


grief as the sea

by lacecat



Category: Black Sails
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Madi/John Silver - Freeform, No Dialogue, Spoilers, i'm a sap and so is flint, season 4, set after 4x01, the reunion fic that had to happen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-20 19:30:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9509075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacecat/pseuds/lacecat
Summary: As Flint holds onto the ropes, the sprays of salt water stinging the cuts on his clenched hands, John Silver falls beside him. Flint sees him plunge into the thrashing waves below them without a single sound.





	

**Author's Note:**

> (4x01 spoilers!! the quick reunion ficlet that I wrote, of what I hope will happen but likely will not, alas :') )

Sometimes, he’ll find himself feeling that rare glimmer of hope, like a bone that’s been loosened somewhere in his chest, delicate and fragile and capable of such injury. Flint is not normally a hopeful man- he’s always seen the darkest side, the cruel injuries that this world inflicts on joy and fortune. He knows what it feels to lose that hope, to have it extinguished before his own eyes. 

 

He’s felt that cruel blow of fate over and over again. With Thomas, with Gates, with Miranda, even with Charles Vane. Flint’s long accepted that he is not destined for happiness, that instead he will look to the dark as a means to lash out and take vengeance for his stolen life with what remains of his days. 

 

But then he’s looking at John Silver over the embers of a fire, having just told him not to worry about being his end. Silver smiles at him, the light from the fire casting delicate shadows over his jaw, his hands where they’re in a loose grip around the bottle. The bone dislodges in his chest.

 

_Oh_ , he thinks. _That’s what home feels like._

 

For the first time in a long time, he thinks that perhaps they will get out of this alive, win this war together. 

 

He thinks, _maybe I will live to see the end of our war._

 

He didn’t think to consider the possibility that John Silver will not live to the end.

 

As Flint holds onto the ropes, the sprays of salt water stinging the cuts on his clenched hands, John Silver falls beside him. Flint sees him plunge into the thrashing waves below them without a single sound.

 

The world grows quiet around him, the cannon fire and screaming reduced to background echoes. Just like it did when Miranda had looked up at him with a tear-stained face in the Hamilton’s parlor, Peter Ashe wringing his hands in the background, when he had known then that it was all over. 

 

When he’s in the longboat next to Madi, next, bullets flying over his head, Flint’s still scanning the waves. He didn’t even process ripping his jacket off, about to jump into the water in a desperate attempt to believe that any moment now, John Silver will come spluttering up for air, looking drenched and annoyed, but alive. 

 

But like always, he realizes that it is not meant to be, that his last chance at a happy ending has too sunk to the bottom of the sea. The sea takes all that one has to offer, and with that thought, he feels that horribly familiar, low anguish turn over in his gut. 

 

The grief would’ve stifled him, frozen his bones, if it had not been the pure anger that rushes through his veins as they’re rowing away from the sinking ships. Anger at Woodes Rogers, at England, at the men, at Silver for not getting into the longboat. He comes close to lunging at Billy, imagines wrapping his hands around his throat, when he sees him. He tries to blame him for the wound that has been carved in his scarred heart. 

 

Later, that night, Flint allows the waves of anger to transform into something more dangerous, more subtle. He’s been fighting this war for too long, but he’ll be damned if he isn’t going to take as many lives of those he deems responsible with him when it’s his turn to die. 

 

He dreams of churning waves and splintering wood. When he wakes up, there’s bile in his mouth, and he vomits onto the dusty ground beside his bed. 

 

He brushes off the concerned looks of Madi, of Billy. Nothing that they could say is going to help, besides. Flint is focused on winning this war, now with yet another immeasurable cost attached to it. He wakes up, he fights, he argues, he plans until he can barely move, and then he sleeps. 

 

On one of those long days after the battle, he’s studying one of the reports that Billy’s men has put together, when there’s a sudden rolling cry from the beach. He turns his head to see what the commotion is about. 

 

John Silver is walking up the beach, a splintered crutch under his arm. His face is bruised, and he looks exhausted, his hair tangled around his face. Something in Flint’s chest lurches once more, and he sets down the papers. 

 

Flint thinks he’s seeing a ghost at first. Like Miranda, screaming at him with a bloody hole in her forehead, he believes that he’s doomed to have the specter of Silver looming over him, reminding him of what he has lost. But then he watches as Madi runs by him, reaching the figure first. She kisses him, not minding that he’s covered in grime and blood, and his hands come up to grasp her as well. 

 

Flint doesn’t dare blink, dare move in case he wakes up from this. He doesn’t know if it’s a dream or a nightmare, but he forces himself to take shallow breaths in the out, as the two separate. 

 

Then John Silver is in front of him, and he looks different. Older, perhaps, more haunted, but he’s still looking at Flint like he’s the last piece in a puzzle that he needs to solve. 

 

He says something, but there’s blood roaring in Flint’s ears. He wants to ask him if he’s hallucinating.

 

He wants to say, _I missed you._

 

He wants to say, _I love you._

 

He realizes he’s shaking when Madi looks concerned where she’s standing behind Silver, watching them. Silver’s eyes are firm on his face, and he reaches out, perhaps to touch Flint’s shoulder.

 

He jerks back, not daring to hope that he isn’t going to wake up, and Silver’s fingers close on empty air. He doesn’t say anything, though, just keeps on looking at Flint steadily, as though he knows that Flint’s world is tilting on its axis, becoming smaller and smaller until he’s just focused on what is in front of him. 

 

Before Flint can fully process what he’s doing, he takes a step closer, then another. As Silver continues to look at him with that careful expression, Flint kisses him right there on the beach. 

 

Silver’s mouth is slack under his, and Flint is still shaking when his hands come up to grasp at the back of Silver’s neck, feeling the cool skin under the press of his fingers, the faint heartbeat. He tastes of salt, and Flint thinks this is the closest that he might ever get to being shown forgiveness in this life. 

 

Silver kisses back after an agonizingly long moment, his hands coming up to Flint’s shoulders in return. He grips tightly, groans into the kiss, and it’s just like when he was smiling at Flint over that fire. 

 

Flint thinks he might say something, half muffled into the press of their mouths together. But Silver doesn’t say a word in response, not then, just continues to clutch onto him, holding onto him like he’s about to be ripped away.

 

Flint thinks that he can’t recover if this is ripped from him once again.

 

He thinks that just perhaps, all of it will have been worth it for this moment. 

**Author's Note:**

> i'm jamesbarlow on tumblr, hmu for enthusiastic reviews of season 4 so far


End file.
